


For Your Company

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Sex Work, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fighting slave catches Garrosh's eye in the arena and he pays for the right to spend a night by his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/gifts).



> Written for Flarenwrath on tumblr. ♥

Garrosh had never seen anyone quite like him.

Even from his viewing box far above the stadium the uncanniness struck him: his shoulders were almost as square and strong as an orc’s, but his legs were far faster and lighter than any grunt or orcish gladiator could manage. His skin shone in the harsh Durotar sun. His hair trailed behind him when he moved, and even from a distance Garrosh could tell how soft it was. His eyes trained on him, fingers curling around the armrests of his seat as he pushed himself forward for a better look, stopping only when Thrall let out a cough beside him.

“Are you having trouble seeing, Garrosh?”

It wasn’t until he felt the Warchief’s eyes studying his face that he processed his current position, processed that his hands had moved from the armrests to the railing, and that he was now bent several inches over the balcony. He shook his head, cursing himself for being caught in the act. “What is that thing?” He tried to defer. Thrall’s gaze faltered and followed his finger to the team fighting below.

“That is a night elf, Garrosh, and a druid,” Thrall seemed to venture a guess, but Garrosh knew he had the wrong combatant. He had seen night elves in Ashenvale and he had no interest in looking at one again. So caught up in watching the too-fast orc fight, he hadn’t even noticed the elf until the Warchief pointed at him, but now he saw what a spectacle he was making with his ridiculous antlers and staff covered in fur. He shook his head, gesturing as the other one landed a killing blow on the ogre in the center of the ring.

“Not the elves. That one.”

“You mean the human?”

“What?”

No, surely not, Garrosh told himself. He’d read about humans during Thrall’s lessons and he’d always pictured something scraggly-haired and pale and _old_ like that sorcerer who lived in Shattrath. He was a human, right? That’s what Thrall had said. And yet this–

“He’s too strong to be a human,” Garrosh demanded with hands now shaking the railing. This...wasn’t what he’d pictured at all and he couldn’t let go of it. This dignified creature wasn’t one to watch his city burn or throw Grommash Hellscream into a camp like a _coward_. A half-orc he would have believed, but this–

Garrosh’s boots landed with a thud against the floor and he was on his feet. A few orcs around them looked up, looked at him as his chair slid back with a screech, but he didn’t care. He was too intent on proving Thrall wrong, on watching this strange creature dance across the battlefield and jump the second ogre like he had nothing to fear. The whole arena fell silent as the slave slung his chains around the behemoth’s neck and choked back. He yanked until the face turned blue.

And then the chanting started: a dull murmur that swelled to a roar.

“Lo’Gosh, Lo’Gosh, Lo’Gosh.”

Thrall’s claim forgotten, Garrosh added his own voice to the chorus.  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
The aftermath of the match left the streets of the Valley of Strength in disarray. Merchants and bookies and slave traders yelled and pushed their way to the front of the crowd with gold clutched in their hands. The clank of slave chains itself was all but lost under the growls of those trying to refute their bets or claiming cheating to slip away. But Garrosh had no interest in gambling.

When he pushed into the crowd a few dignified citizens stepped aside– knowing all too well who he was and who he came with– but the lowlifes clustered and blocked his path. In a seedy place like this the Hellscream name meant little, and by the time he reached the cages his face was red with rage and exertion. A troll stepped on his foot and he threw him back into the crowd. Someone cursed him but he didn’t care. He was at the front of the line, and the slave, _that slave_ was smirking and watching from the cage in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. Swallowing, he took a step forward and wrapped his fingers around the bars of the cage. 

“What are you?” He hadn’t meant to sound so demanding. The slave raised his brows. 

“I’m Lo’Gosh. Haven’t you heard?” Normally sarcasm was a thing Garrosh couldn’t tolerate, but now it just egged him on, compelling him forward until the bars smacked against his shoulders. It wasn’t an attack, no. He just wanted a better look. Wanted to squint and block out the furious sun and the stinking crowd pushing against his back. At the other end of the cage an elf started laughing: the female, the fast one from before. He ignored it and kept his eyes fixed on Lo’Gosh.

“And what else? You look like an orc without tusks.”

The laughing reached a crescendo, with Lo’Gosh’s own baritone complimenting the elf’s giggle. The druid, too, joined in, and Garrosh straightened his shoulders to compensate. “It wasn’t a joke. I’ve never seen anything like you.”

“ ‘e’s a ‘uman, ya idiot.” He liked the troll’s answer even less than he had liked Thrall’s, turning and growling only to find the crowd parting and stepping aside. Even the troll backed down as a shaman stepped forward. A sack of gold swung at his side, knocking and clanging before hitting the ground between them with a thud.

“What are you doing, Hellscream?” 

Garrosh eyed the other orc, trying to decide whether or not he was someone Thrall had taken him to meet. He had met so many green orcs over the past few weeks, so many shamans. But this one’s mantle was caked with dirt and his brows were raised in a sarcastic look unbecoming of Thrall’s associates. He had to be one of the slavers. Garrosh saw no need for platitudes, instead curling his lips in disgust. “These yours, slaver?”

“I wouldn’t be up here if they weren’t, Hellscream.” Another ripple went through the crowd. They were laughing at him, again, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He failed to hold his stare when the sun’s rays cast their light across his face; between the glare and the stench of the crowd his eyes prickled in disgust, and he had to look at the ground. This only fueled the laughter and suddenly he felt like a fool for coming here.

“Isn’t this a step down for the likes of you?” The orc– who he would later learn was called Rehgar– persisted. “Then again, I heard they found you in a barn. Is that true?”  


At that, he’d had it. He snapped. Giving the cage one last bar-rattling shake, he pushed away and leered into the crowd. His voice rose to a shout. “I’m just here to speak with your gladiators, scum. Stand aside and let me finish what I have started.”

A smirk– pregnant with understanding– spread across Rehgar’s lips, and Garrosh felt unease tighten his chest. If he had disliked the mockery he hated this. Hated feeling like the shaman could see right through him. He coughed, then growled. He could feel the slaves shooting looks among themselves at his side. 

“ ‘Speak with,’ sure.” Rehgar mirrored Garrosh’s inflection. He didn’t like it, but before he could say as much the cage door swung open and the shaman reached in for the blood elf’s chain. She stepped into the light, eyes green and flashing. Garrosh hadn’t the time to make sense of what was happening before the slaver spoke again.

“For five thousand gold, you can speak to her all you want. Speak to her here or speak to her back in the Warchief’s home. But if you want her attention, you need to pay.”

“What–?” No. No. This wasn’t right. He hadn’t come down here to...least of all with _her._ Garrosh Hellscream didn’t have sex with females and he certainly didn’t _pay_ for it. His ire– now defensive, and desperate– rose in his chest, and he gave his head a firm, if not panicked shake. “Wait. No. I’m not here to, to–”

Before he could stop himself his gaze strayed to the human. To Lo’Gosh. To the scowl painted across his face.

“Oh. Interesting. I see.” 

Garrosh watched in horror as Rehgar nudged the elf back into the cage and in the very same motion caught Lo’Gosh’s bindings between his fingers. He guided him forward, and even though Garrosh opened his mouth to explain that he hadn’t meant he wanted an exchange, that he wasn’t here to pay for anything, no sound rose to his lips. Before he knew it, the human stood in front of him. The sun lit up his face and Garrosh found himself unable to move. 

“Lo’Gosh is my prized gladiator. His price is set at eight thousand gold to do him right here, ten thousand if you want to take him back to your room.”

“I only came here to talk.” Garrosh’s protests grew weaker and fainter every time he repeated them. His stomach sunk, and he knew he was going to pay. 

“I will pick him up at sunrise tomorrow. Understand me, Garrosh? No marks that will scar, no broken bones, no limp. My team depends on him. Do I make myself clear?”

Garrosh swallowed. His head fell into a nod that was as much an excuse to look away from the human as it was a show of acquiescence. He passed over his coin purse– an entire week’s worth of allowance from the Warchief, but he forgot to care how he’d explain it later– and then a chain pressed into the palm of his hand.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Garrosh, what is this?”

Garrosh knew Thrall’s exasperation was warranted. For once, they agreed on that. The Warchief had expressed his apprehension about the slave trade before they went that day to the arena, and selling slaves for sex was, thankfully, illegal in the city. And Garrosh agreed with that. He had said as much that morning and he still believed it now.

And yet here he stood with his hand wrapped around a slaver’s chain, caught at the bottom of the ramp winding up to his bed chamber, a reluctant human in tow. It looked bad and he knew it. But Thrall had to understand it wasn’t meant to happen this way. He hadn’t gone down there expecting to buy–

“I just brought him here to _talk_ , Thrall.”

“Garrosh.”

“I didn’t go down there expecting to–"

“Garrosh.” Thrall’s voice got louder, and somehow more exhausted. He shook his head and cast the human a look laden with pity. Garrosh didn’t catch his reaction.  
“Human or not, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. You must know how this looks...”

“I didn’t bring him here for sex, all right? I just wanted to _talk_.”

“I’m not going to stop you. Just promise you will think next time you decide to break the law in the Warchief’s home.”

Garrosh let a growl stand as his answer, turning, and, with a jerk he hadn’t intended to come so fast, leading the human up onto the ramp. Thrall always had a way of making him feel guilty even when he had done nothing wrong. Feeling his disapproving stare against his back, he shrugged and stomped, struggling to reach the top without looking back. Once onto the landing, he let a groan escape his lips. With that, the slave started to laugh.

“Talk? Really? Ten thousand gold to talk?” 

He all but slammed open the door. “I don’t need this from you, too, all right?” 

Once inside, Garrosh busied himself with lighting the brazier. It gave him an excuse to look away and plot his next move, think through this mess of a situation he had stumbled his way into. He wasn’t about to take advantage of a slave. He had _honor_ and never wanted to break the law. But the human seemed to think...everyone seemed to think...

The flint sparked with a ‘skrtch’ in his hand and an orange glow spread with a crackle at the base of the wood. He looked up and found the human seated on the opposite side of the grate, his chains, spread out across his lap, flickering in the halo of light. 

“Those chains make me uncomfortable,” he pointed out, earning a snicker.

“Lodge a complaint with my master, then.” 

“What if I broke them and let you go?” 

Something came over the human, just for a moment– a kind of sadness, confusion, gone in the time it took for the fire to catch from one log to the next. But Garrosh had seen it. His stomach clenched when he realized what he had offered and how hopeless it would be to follow through. 

But soon the slave had recovered, and the sneer was back on his lips. “You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you?” 

“I am some kind of hero, slave. I am–”

“Hellscream, I know. I heard. Doesn’t mean I know who you are.” Garrosh’s shock and dismay must have shown on his face because the slave quickly clarified, in a voice as amused as it was defensive. “What? Do I look like an orc to you? Last month I didn’t even know your language.”

“For a slave, you sure are sarcastic.”

“For the Warchief’s lap dog, you sure are self-conscious.”

The human had hit a nerve and he did little to hide it, jumping up and letting out a snarl. He kicked his cushion out of his way as he stomped towards the door. It wasn’t until his fingers closed around the handle that he turned back to regard the human’s face. His expression was still as stubborn as before, lips pursed together, halfway between a laugh and a sneer. Who did this human think he was?

“I’m going to get us dinner.” His words sounded more like a threat than an offer, but he was annoyed. Shaking his head, he stepped back onto the landing and waved over one of his attendants. He needed the wait to cool off, to forget that stupid smug look and what it did to the pit of his chest. If just for a moment, he breathed in the warm desert air and the smell of boar ribs roasting on a spit down below. He shouldn’t have let a slave, let alone a _human slave_ , get to him like that. 

When he returned to the room with a stack of ribs and two flagons of ale on a tray he kept his gaze level, not looking down at Lo’Gosh until he set the food down between them. It took a moment for the human to start eating, but when he did it was fast and frantic, teeth ripping meat from the bone with all the ferocity of a famished wolf. Garrosh followed suit; the pause gave him a chance to try again at conversation.

“You are a human,” he says, more for his own benefit than Lo’Gosh’s. His gaze settled back on the flames for fear of letting his admiration for the slave’s appearance slip through in his stare. “But you are not weak. Why did your people throw my father into a camp to rot like a pig in a pen? Did you ever think to let him fight for his freedom? To challenge your leader to Mak’gora? Do you see my people as beasts?”

Lo’Gosh chewed, saying nothing. Garrosh finally chanced a glance in his direction only to find a blank look creeping across his features. He tried again, pushing, watching. “What does Stormwind look like? Do you know the sorcerer Khadgar? What kingdom do you come from?”

“Am I here to give you a history lesson, or am I here so you can fuck me? What do you care what kingdom I’m from?” 

Garrosh shifted in his seat, uneasy, and not solely because no one seemed to believe he had brought the slave here to learn from him. No. There was something in the way he said it; his edge was gone and Garrosh needed to know why. He turned to stare, dropping his bared rib bone with a ‘clk’ against the plate. “You are here to talk, so talk. I want to know. Where did you learn to fight? Are you dumb? I paid, now tell me!”

The slave’s expression contorted, and Garrosh longed to take back his words. But they had left his lips to linger in the space between them, in the silence punctuated only by the crackle of logs and the soft ‘wsh’ of fizz on their mugs full of ale. Opening his mouth to form an apology– at least something to excuse his behavior, the temper he had tried so hard to fight since coming to Orgrimmar– he was cut off.

“I don’t remember, okay? I don’t know who I am. I didn’t even know what ‘human’ was until Rehgar told me.” 

Oh. 

The mood in the room had changed, the tension contorting from playful to fraught. The human’s sarcasm had fallen away and now Garrosh was left with the situation laid bare in front of them. Lo’Gosh was a slave, a piece of property, with no sense of identity or belonging. He was trapped and chained and nothing Garrosh could do short of breaking the law could put an end to it. The room felt cold in spite of the fire. Lo’gosh must have felt it as well, as he reached for another rib and tore the meat from the bone in silence.

It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Garrosh was halfway through his ale and the stack of naked bones had grown to a pile– which was mostly Lo’gosh’s doing, though Garrosh couldn’t bear to follow that observation to its logical conclusion. Finally, when flames had turned to embers and the ruckus on the street below had dropped to a murmur, Lo’gosh spoke again.

“Look. I’m not a history teacher or a–” Garrosh could tell he was struggling to find the right word. He seemed to settle on “–Or someone paid to talk. Let’s just get on with it, okay?”

“I–”

Garrosh heard the chain clink across the floor, and then Lo’Gosh’s hand was on his belt, tugging at it, trying to spring the buckle free from its latch. And everything in Garrosh’s mind pleaded with him to move. Begged, even, and he definitely tried. His protest came in a string of nonsensical sounds and he pushed back onto his heels just before the slave’s fingers could tug at the lacings of his pants. His hand missed, and instead landed on his thigh. His fetters felt heavy pressed against Garrosh’s pants.

“You will sleep here and go back to your master. That’s it.” Garrosh wasn’t sure he believed his own conviction, but he tried to convince Lo’Gosh it was firm. “Nothing more. Understand?”

But it didn’t have the desired effect. Another scowl crossed Lo’Gosh’s face as he sprung to his feet. “And risk you begging him for your money back? Not a chance. I don’t care what kind of hero you think you are ‘Hellscream.’ You finish the job or I’m not leaving. And I don’t think you want to see Rehgar at your door when he hears you’re holding me hostage.” 

“You will do what I say,” Garrosh repeated, now on his feet and advancing on Lo’Gosh. How dare this human, this _slave_ , speak to him like this, pressuring him to throw away his honor? His indignation got the better of him and he grasped Lo’Gosh’s arm, yanking him as he’d done on their ascent upstairs. He bared his teeth and let out a snarl. A yell rose unbidden in his throat. “What would your master think if he heard you talking to me like this, huh? Who do you think you are?”

Lo’Gosh gave him the last answer he would have expected. He laughed.

His face– lined with wear and worry Garrosh had hardly noticed until it was gone– softened, brightened, broke into a smile far too young and carefree for anyone in his position. And he laughed. Loud, unhindered, and right into Garrosh’s face… 

“You’re a hypocrite,” he managed, undeterred by Garrosh’s grip clenching around his arm. “Garrosh fucking Hellscream, savior and slaver. Worse than Rehgar himself.”

“Do you mock me?” Garrosh pressed, but the anger was gone. He knew every word he said would only prove Lo’Gosh’s point. He resigned himself to the simple: “What do you want, slave?”

“For you to lay down on your bed and let me do what I came to do. I thought that was clear.” He pulled off his headband and gave his hair a shake, loose strands that– Garrosh could tell– were just as soft as they had looked in the arena swaying about his face. The orc stared as he removed his gloves and let them join the band on the floor. “Look, I’m tired. I want to sleep. We both know this is happening so let’s get on with it.”

“How... charming.” Garrosh was at a loss. The slave was giving him orders and he didn’t know what to do.

“You didn’t pay for charming. If you want charming I’ll put it on your bill.”

The human’s smirk had returned, just as wide and annoying and _grating_ as ever, and Garrosh found himself painfully aware of how close they stood. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the rise and fall of Lo’Gosh’s chest. When he shifted his weight, the straps of his open belt knocked against the slave’s hips and he wanted nothing more than to rock forward and close the distance between them. Lo’Gosh continued with the hooks on his tunic, revealing freshly scarred skin catching Garrosh’s gaze before dropping the article on the ground behind him.

Garrosh swallowed, hard. His resolve was gone.

“You’re right,” he muttered as he turned towards the bed, making quick work of his belt and the lacings of his pants on his walk across the room. He rolled them off his legs and left them, discarded, on the floor before taking a seat on the corner of the mattress. He could feel Lo’Gosh’s eyes on him the whole time and he didn’t know what to make of it, wondering if he was assessing his task or...admiring him, as he had admired Lo’Gosh back in the arena. The thought made his cock twitch beneath his last remaining garment and when he looked back he _knew_ Lo’Gosh must see the growing tent in his pants. He waited to see his smirk widen, but it never did.

“What do you want me to do?” His stomach clenched, but rather from frustration or arousal he couldn’t say. The two had muddled the moment the human slave stepped into his room. 

“Lay back.” Lo’Gosh climbed up onto the other side, his chains clanking together. Without his shirt the dull thud of his collar against his skin was all the more noticeable, but Garrosh’s gaze remained trained on his face. He nodded, laying back and leaving himself exposed. 

Lo’Gosh’s fingers hooked around the undergarment’s waistband and gave it a yank; his cock sprung free, and if he wasn’t flustered before, he certainly was now, standing exposed to Lo’Gosh’s unreadable stare. He didn’t have time to process his embarrassment, however, before the human’s fingers wrapped around the base, grasping like one might grasp the hilt of an axe. His fingers were dry and calloused but his palm was soft, softer than any orc Garrosh had ever been with. A gasp formed on his lips. The human stroked, seeming to appraise him, rolling his hand along the row of piercings and pressing the skin up over the head. 

And all of Garrosh’s misgivings died with the moan that creeped up the back of his throat.

A moan which seemed to draw the human’s attention; he looked up from his ministrations to shoot Garrosh a grin– proud, self-satisfied, befitting a famous combatant who had triumphed over some unmovable foe. Garrosh felt his cheeks start to flush but, thankfully, in the dying embers he doubted Lo’gosh could see the change in his hue. The last thing he needed was some smug remark from the human about _that_. 

“Well, get on with it.” He decided it wasn’t worth the chance. But what was supposed to sound impatient merely came off as desperate. And the human seemed to pick up on it.  


“Yeah, yeah,” Lo’Gosh teased. “I’ve been saying that for hours.”

Garrosh grit his teeth: the chiding had an effect on him– that much was clear as his hips rolled into Lo’Gosh’s touch and his breath caught in his throat– but he blamed the human’s hand. He blamed the human’s smirk that remained even when he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock, pursing, sliding downwards. Anything not to admit that this human was _getting to him_ and all he could do about it was throw back his head and moan. He was a slave and yet he had won control over Garrosh. The thought disarmed him, and made his legs weak. 

Lo’Gosh’s breath was hot against his skin. The chain hanging from the collar around his neck brushed against Garrosh’s thigh and the sac at the base of his cock as he worked his way down. He gagged when Garrosh hit the back of his throat but quickly recovered, swallowing, relaxing with all the control over his body he had demonstrated in the arena.  


All the control Garrosh lacked as he felt his throat clench tight around his cock. 

“Fuck–” His hand dropped to Lo’gosh’s head. His hair was just as soft as he had imagined. He tangled it between his fingers. “F-f–”

With no tusks, a small mouth, the slave was able to move. He yielded to Garrosh’s tugging and fell into his rhythm; when Garrosh yanked his hair he pulled back and when he pushed him he swallowed his cock, not stopping until his nose pressed against Garrosh’s abdomen. Garrosh was back in control and he loved it, watching his face as he struggled to accommodate each thrust of his hips. That was until–

“Give me some oil or something. I’m gonna ride you.”

“What–”

Even with swollen lips, even with tears from the gagging still prickling in the corners of his eyes, Lo’Gosh looked smug, and Garrosh hated it. Hated it so much, in fact, that he whimpered and rolled his hips forward: an involuntary show of desperation he cursed himself for but couldn’t hold back. But instead of humoring him Lo’Gosh crawled over his chest and reached for the drawer on his bedside table. Chest, collar, and chains pressed against Garrosh’s skin, and then finally, with a triumphant sound Garrosh felt rather than heard–

“Is this it?” The human held a tiny bottle in Garrosh’s face. He swallowed and nodded, unable to find his voice. 

“Good. All right.” Letting the vial fall on the mattress beside Garrosh’s hip the human slid off his chest and let his feet hit the floor with a soft ‘thud.’ Still in clear view, he unhooked the clasp on his pants and then pulled open the lacings– not teasing, as Garrosh may have expected, but still dexterous, measured. Controlled, even, and with his gaze fixed on Garrosh’s face. The orc’s own eyes strayed to his hands and to the cock he eased from the leather garment. The human was full of surprises, and this...was no exception. He bit his upper lip. Lo’Gosh smirked and rolled off his pants. 

When they met again there was no clothing to hide the warmth of the human’s skin. Lo’Gosh’s bare thigh rested against Garrosh’s own as he knelt beside him, slicking his hand with the oil and spreading it from his head to the base of his shaft. And then there were his knees: one on each side of Garrosh’s waist, pressing in as if to hold him in place, and the wet hand that clenched around him. And then–

Garrosh let out a moan as he felt Lo’Gosh’s body open to accommodate him: tight and hot around the head of his cock. It was almost _too_ tight; the cry that rose to Lo’Gosh’s lips betrayed his struggle, but before Garrosh could stop him the human had sunken down, teeth gritting and eyes squeezed closed. Garrosh fumbled to grasp his hips, to keep him still, if only for a moment, but his hand fell short. His arm hit the mattress beside him. He arched his back and let out a helpless cry. 

“Good.” He managed between gasps. His legs quivered and his cock throbbed in the human’s heat.

“Good.” Lo’Gosh’s own voice was even more strained. Finally regaining the strength to move, Garrosh pressed his hand against the side of his hip and stroked his thumb along the curve of his bone: to steady, but also to comfort. To show his appreciation. 

The human seemed surprised by the touch, but didn’t question it. He barely heeded it, even, with only a few shallow thrusts before riding the orc’s cock. The pain never left his face, but it was joined by something else, a shudder that coursed through his body as he leaned back onto his hands and changed the angle of his thrusts. His hair swayed and stuck to his face. Garrosh watched through half-lidded eyes and erratic sounds that all but died on his lips.

The human’s hips rolled and his body clenched around him. When Garrosh rocked up, he met his thrusts and his cock– bumping against Garrosh’s belly whenever he sheathed– leaked onto his skin.

His grey eyes flashed in the dying light and the smirk he managed pushed Garrosh over the edge.

Concern bled into need, and need into desperation. The hand that had rested so light and comforting against Lo’Gosh’s hip tightened. His nails dug into Lo’Gosh’s back. All he could do was feel the human’s skin, his heat, the way his chains pressed against his thighs and the tremor that passed through him when his face contorted in a cry. Scratching, dragging him down into a biting kiss, he threw him down onto the mattress and pressed his face into the pillow.

As if he had any hope of regaining control.

But he tried. Oh, he tried, pinning his chained wrists above his head and sinking his teeth into the human’s shoulder. His cock sank back into his body with enough force to shake the mattress and Lo’Gosh let out a cry. Pained, but also needy, and even in his frenzy Garrosh worked to please him. He angled his thrusts as Lo’Gosh had done before. His free hand slipped under his hips and grasped his cock. His finger trembled but didn’t falter, jerking and stroking and falling into rhythm with his thrusts. And Lo’Gosh’s body yielded. He cried, then shuddered, then tensed with the force of his orgasm. His cum leaked between Garrosh’s fingers.

And that was all he could take. 

The tension that had built at the base of his own cock unfurled, and he thrust, deep, one last time into the heat of the human’s body. Face pressed against his neck and sweat-soaked hair, he let out a cry far higher and weaker than any voice he would claim. His hips jerked. His body shuddered, and he fell in a heap against Lo’Gosh’s back. It took time before he could breathe again.

“Well,” Lo’Gosh finally rolled out from under him, though his smugness disappeared beneath a few jagged breaths. He wasted no time in curling up beneath Garrosh’s furs; he didn’t even bother to clean himself before closing his eyes and resting his head against the pillow.

But Garrosh was still watching and he made no secret of it. Propping his elbow against the mattress he took time to study Lo’Gosh’s face, as if taking it in for the last time. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew a slave like this...an arena combatant, no less! The thought pulled his stomach into knots, and the euphoria of their moment together started to fade.

“I could buy you,” he suggested, against all reason. He knew it was hopeless as soon as it left his lips.

Lo’Gosh cracked open an eye. His expression moved from contentment to bemusement. “Rehgar’s prized possession. He wouldn’t sell.”

“I’ll see you again, though. I promise you.”

“Always a hero, aren’t you?” Lo’Gosh yanked the furs up over his head. His snicker died in the dark, leaving Garrosh with cold, pregnant silence, until...

“Be a hero and let me sleep, all right?” 

He scoffed and rolled to the opposite side of bed. Garrosh closed his eyes but found himself unable to sleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Refuge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706434) by [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/pseuds/Flarenwrath)




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